"You're wet enough," Liam said, his voice low. "Time to get started."
Tasha looked at him, her chest still rising and falling. Her face was flushed, strands of black hair stuck to her forehead.
She didn't say anything. Just watched him.
Liam stepped between her legs. His hands moved to her thighs, spreading them wider, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh there.
His injured side pulled with the movement — a sharp reminder — but his face stayed even.
His cock was still hard, the head dark and slick. He wrapped his hand around himself, stroking once, feeling the weight of it.
Tasha's eyes dropped to watch. Her breath caught.
"You ready?" he asked.
She nodded.
He lined himself up. The head pressed against her entrance, feeling the heat and the wetness waiting there.
He pushed in.
All the way. One slow steady push — his injured side burning with the effort, his jaw tight against it, his free hand braced flat against the vanity to keep his weight off her.
